


Theia Mania

by Raehimura



Series: Kairos [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: All at the same time, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Baze Malbus, But Baze makes it clear he shouldn't, Chirrut has Emotions Other Than Affection and Faith in the Force, Chirrut is doubting, Gratuitous Smut and Fluff, Let No Man Tear Asunder What the Force Has Brought Together, M/M, Post Separation, Reunion Sex, Space Dads loving each other so much, That may or may not be canon anymore, This is what happens when you try to write angry reaffirming sex, and then they figure their shit out the best possible way:, between the sweetest husbands in the galaxy, by fucking, sequel that can be read stand-alone but you'll enjoy it more if you read the first part, very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raehimura/pseuds/Raehimura
Summary: When Baze returned, he knew he would never leave Chirrut's side again. Maybe he should have made that clear to Chirrut. When Baze is delayed on a mission, Chirrut fears he has left again. For good.Baze arrives home to an angry guardian shoving him against the door and, when words aren't enough, he comforts Chirrut’s fear in a different way.“I swear on the Force that I will never voluntarily leave your side again.”Chirrut blinked uselessly for a moment. Then, with a smirk that wasn't entirely friendly: “You don’t believe in the Force.”“Then I swear on my life, and yours, and all of Jedha.”





	Theia Mania

**Author's Note:**

> The title means: divine madness. Many thanks to my amazing beta Demyrie for helping me through the first smut I've written in years.

It had taken an extra week on a job that was already two weeks too long, but Baze was finally home.

Home. Jedha. It had taken remarkably little time to get used to being back, to having a home again. No longer the Temple, and that still stung in ways he was just discovering, but he was back at Chirrut’s side. It had taken circling the universe to realize that his orbit belonged around a man, not a place, and that was enough.

In fact, right now, the thought of Chirrut was the only thing keeping his heavy body upright. He had been out of contact for an extra week – laying low and waiting for the chaos to die down before he took his mark – and, though he was exhausted, he couldn’t rest until he saw Chirrut, safe in front of him.

He swept the dusty streets with watchful eyes, but this far into the slums there were no authorities to be found, and the only signs of life were suspicious eyes glinting out from the shadows at this armed newcomer. How long until they saw Jedha in him again? So, surroundings as secured as they were likely to be, he let himself lean back to gaze up at the stars he had just left.

Some part of him still wondered if, given his own foolish abandonment, he might wake one morning to find himself treated to the same — it is what he deserves, after all. Perhaps it was a foolish fear, but it quickened his staggering steps toward their current shelter, nothing more than several large pieces of rubble cobbled together with pilfered tech.

He was already shrugging out of his cannon as he keyed in the security code and pushed open the door. Sloppier than usual, to leave himself defenseless, but his back thanked him. Setting the heavy weapon in its usual spot by the door, he glanced around the small concrete space, disappointed to find it empty.

“Chirrut?” he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse and the recycled air of the dingy drop ship. His companion was likely out helping Kaya tend to the orphans or charming tourists out of their credits. He would just have to wait.

His disappointment was washed away in the next moment when Chirrut emerged from the small partition containing their ‘fresher, replaced by confusion as he stormed up to him and grabbed twin handfuls of his filth-stiffened jumpsuit, closing the door by slamming Baze’s bulk against it.

Chirrut’s lean face was torn by a snarl formerly reserved only for particularly nasty Stormtroopers, his cloudy eyes pinned unerringly on Baze’s own. Only utter confusion and years of trust stopped Baze from responding instinctively and escalating the situation. As it was, he held his hands up in a gesture of submission and spoke gently.

“Chirrut, what—”

Chirrut merely growled, clenching tighter into the fabric at Baze’s chest and shoving him roughly against the door again. For an instant, they simply breathed each other's bitter air in the silence of their little pile of rubble. When he finally spoke, his voice was a quiet, deadly thing.

“I thought you left. Again. For good.”

Baze blinked at him, perplexed. Chirrut doubting was one thing, but his intensity was unmatched in recent memory... Even including the first time he crawled back.

“My friend, it was just a job,” Baze assured him, telling himself not to reach for the fists in his suit. “We need money, to live and to help the others. I was always coming back.”

It turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Chirrut pressed closer, teeth bared, and Baze was reminded of the lethal strength coiled in this man’s limbs. He had no fear of that force being used against him, but Chirrut’s rage was rare and terrible to behold.

“You were supposed to be back seven days ago, Baze,” he spat. “No warning, no communication. What was I supposed to think?”

Baze’s stomach turned. Of course. He’d only been back for a month before he left on this job. How many days went by without contact before Chirrut started to doubt? Before he gave him up as lost – and worse, a coward.

“There was … There was a delay,” Baze choked out around the desperate lump in his throat. He brought his hands down to grip Chirrut’s wrists gently, reached for the surreally smooth piece of skin beneath and the pulse jumping hectically there. “I couldn’t expose myself by sending out a message.”

Chirrut turned his face away slightly, breathing heavily and saying nothing. He waited, a taut line from his clenched fists to his planted feet.

“I am sorry, Chirrut,” Baze continued, relentlessly gentle and still, allowing his friend time to come down. “I wanted to. I didn’t think … Well, I just didn’t think.”

Chirrut was calming, unclenching his fists to flatten his palms to the hard plane of Baze’s chest, but his sharp jaw was still clenched and his pulse throbbed visibly in his long throat.

As carefully as he handled the soft soil in the shade of the Temple, Baze slid his hands up to cup his face, for once unafraid to leave a mark, realizing perhaps they had both been stained in different ways over their time apart. He spoke as clearly and confidently as he knew how, trying to push the words into Chirrut’s chest so he never doubted:

“I swear on the Force that I will never voluntarily leave your side again.”

Chirrut blinked uselessly for a moment. Then, with a smirk that wasn't entirely friendly: “You don’t believe in the Force.”

Baze let out a breath, easing them past the danger point. But his voice was still naked and earnest when he countered, “Then I swear on my life, and yours, and all of Jedha.”

This time, Chirrut’s grin was genuine. But it was gone in a flash, and Chirrut was curling his hands into the fabric at Baze’s chest again, using his hold to press himself none too gently against him. Baze had a moment to worry, about nothing and everything, before Chirrut was pressing their lips together.

The kiss was fierce and too fast, but Baze knew how to do this. He kissed back without hesitation, smoothing his hands up Chirrut’s back to get his own grip into the rough traditional weave of his robes and pull him closer. Chirrut let out a sharp, victorious breath and licked a smooth path across Baze’s wind-roughened lips, which parted eagerly. With a soft groan, Baze brought a warm, broad hand to cup the back of Chirrut’s head and scrub roughly at the bristles of hair there, feeling Chirrut smile against his mouth.

Baze’s brain devolved into nothing but a long whining sound, which he may or may not have been making out loud. It had been five years, two months and a handful of hours since he’d touched another person this way, and his skin was parched desert sand drinking in the spicy, never forgotten, impossibly easy nourishment of _Chirrut_.

Then, still kissing him wet and deep, Chirrut surged up against him and pressed a corded thigh between Baze’s own. Baze knew how to do this, too. His legs parted easily to let Chirrut that much closer, utterly shameless in his want. Chirrut had always made shame impossible.

It was only when Chirrut rocked his thigh upward, meeting a part of his body that was already very interested in proceedings, that Baze tore himself away from Chirrut’s lips. Gasping for breath, he ducked his blood-rich face and managed to wrest just enough space between them to think.

They had not done this since his return. He had not thought much of it, to be honest, so happy to be back and still uncertain he deserved this companionship after he’d run away from it for so long. Chirrut, for his part, had seemed perfectly content to occupy a shared space and trade the casual intimacies that came with it.

They had slept next to each other as easily as always, traded soft gestures like a head on a shoulder or, once when Baze was feeling particularly daring, a kiss on the hand. But nothing like this, tangled as they are now, and if these feelings had been simmering away beneath the surface, there had been no indication Baze could determine.

He had thought, when he thought about it, that perhaps this part of their relationship would never be what it was. Perhaps Chirrut no longer desired him in that way, and he could not blame him on any level. He also could not bring himself to mourn it, exactly, as lucky as he felt to be in Chirrut’s life and have his affection and devotion again.

Perhaps he had been wrong, but he could not stand to think of the alternatives: That Chirrut was acting out of fear and not desire, or worse, that he was doing this to convince Baze to stay. His blood ran cold at the thought.

“Chirrut,” he began cautiously, deep voice decidedly wrecked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Chirrut’s answering grin was annoyed but indulgent, his weight still leaning insistently into Baze. “Did any part of me feel _unsure_ to you?”

Baze did not indulge his joking. “It’s only that we haven’t … been together like this since I returned. I never assumed things would be as they were before …”

Chirrut’s grin faded into that calm, inscrutable expression of his. Chirrut the monk. Chirrut the guardian. He need not have bothered; Baze had always seen through it.

“Ah, and they don’t have to,” Chirrut said evenly, so still it felt like a distance erupting between them even as they touched. “Do you want this?”

“I —” Baze began, and whatever noble platitude he intended to offer was swept away at the surge of desire washing through him. More than he hated the imaginary distance between them, he _wanted_.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, spreading broad palms over Chirrut’s back, affectionate and possessive.

Chirrut’s pleased grin broke like sunrise over the desert, long, clever fingers wandering up to tangle in Baze’s shaggy hair. “As do I.”

Baze’s breath hitched, and Chirrut leaned in to hover just over his lips, breathing his words warm and close. “It sounds like there’s no uncertainty here.”

Perhaps a better man would have pulled away and insisted they spoke more, hashed out everything between them and made clear where they stood.

Whatever Baze had once been, he no longer claimed to be a good man.

Coarse skin suddenly sparking like overheated metal, he pulled his companion into another kiss, wet and clinging, and a hum ran through his body like that first step into the chill of the Kyber pools, in another life. That was all it took for Chirrut to melt against him and crowd him further against the door with the hot press of his mouth, reckless and hungry, his hand slapping flat against the scuffed metal behind them as they tussled.

Baze was hungry, too. He hungered for Chirrut more than he’d ever hungered for food in the lean times or for water in the desert. He could not get close enough, grip tight enough, kiss deeply enough.

Chirrut kissed the air from his lungs, finding the hot line of Baze’s arousal with his thigh and rocking against him. The friction of Chirrut's lean muscles, flush from chest to thigh, was enough to knock loose a rumbling moan deep in Baze’s chest, and he couldn’t resist grinding back.

Desperate for skin, Baze broke the kiss to trail his lips over the sharp rise of Chirrut’s cheekbones and down the long line of his neck, tugging restlessly at his robes. Chirrut made a sound that may have been a chuckle or may have been panting, making room for wandering hands while getting to work on Baze’s jumpsuit, scrabbling at the closures and ripping the front open across his chest and down to the soft, jumping skin below his navel.

The old Temple robes suddenly felt alien in Baze’s enthusiasm, but he managed to wrest the garment over Chirrut’s shoulders and down to tangle around his wrists behind him. There he had to stop, panting, and drink in the sight of Chirrut, chest bare and flushed, arms pinned behind him and head cocked languidly to the side even as he continued to rut against him. Handsome, rare, but most of all, certain.

Baze swallowed against a new lump in his throat, overwhelmed by the trust and adoration between them and desperate to communicate his dizzying gratefulness. Words failing him, as they so often did, Baze settled for lacing his fingers into Chirrut’s where they were bound and leaning in for a soft, achingly sweet kiss.

Chirrut returned it, patient and open, as if he was in no hurry. But the fierce clutch of his hands in Baze’s own and the wanton rolling of his hips made it clear that he was just as affected as his companion, and in no mood to dally. So Baze pulled his hands away to drag blunt fingers up the arc of Chirrut’s spine, and Chirrut made quick work of the rest of his robes before stepping from the pooling fabric and pressing miles of taut golden skin against Baze.

Baze may have shorted out momentarily, frozen as a glitchy droid at the firm warmth against him, but Chirrut had no problem taking over. He stripped Baze to the waist with gusto and raked nails across the flat planes of his chest with a wicked smile. That seemed enough to restart Baze’s brain, and he leaned forward to catch Chirrut in a bruising kiss while sliding rough palms over the muscled swell of his ass and further, catching under a powerful thigh and hitching it against his own hip.

Chirrut, shameless, pressed into the kiss as it dissolved into a mess of teeth and tongue, bucking against Baze’s hip and gripping broad, scarred shoulders hard enough to bruise.

Then, with those hands fisting tight into Baze’s hair and only a slight shift of weight as a warning, Chirrut swung his other leg up to lock around Baze’s thick waist. Baze took his tawny weight easily, clutching at his back though Chirrut was perfectly capable of supporting himself with half the handholds even in this position. With a dark chuckle that sends Baze’s head spinning, Chirrut lathed a warm, wet line down his neck to suck a dark bruise into his skin. Marking.

Baze hitches him closer, pushing into the warmth of Chirrut’s bare cock pressed against his hip, scalding even through the layers of his jumpsuit. Chirrut presses back, mouthing hungrily at Baze’s throat and shoulder before nosing into the tender skin above his collarbone and worrying the skin with his teeth. Baze choked at the surge of sensation and pressed at the damp temple against his cheek, wrecked and needy for more. Anything Chirrut, an unending battle of generosity and mischief, would give. Chirrut hummed approvingly and bit down harder, running his tongue along a new scar at the curve of his shoulder and rocking down into the pressure of Baze’s hip with a guttural sigh that shook the assassin's skin.

That was all he could take. His love still wrapped around him, he crossed the few steps to the pallet where they slept, aroused to distraction by Chirrut moaning wantonly at the increased friction as he moved.

Their journey down to the pallet was a controlled fall more than anything, but they’d long been trained in taking a fall. They rolled to the center of the pithy fiber mat, and Baze swarmed up Chirrut’s body to cover it with his own, rocking back to kneel above Chirrut and take in the sight of him splayed out like a dessert. Chirrut gave him a few seconds of heated staring, then reached up and tugged at his hair again, close to his scalp and just enough to hurt, the way he knew Baze liked it. Baze pulled against the hand in his hair to press another bruising kiss to Chirrut’s lips, bracketing him with thick arms and kicking off the rest of his travel-worn clothes.

Finally, blessedly naked and free of barriers between them, Baze lowered his body to press fully against Chirrut, who gasped like it was the first clean breath he’d taken in years and bucked against him fiercely. The raw slide of their cocks sent a frisson of heat deep into Baze’s bones, and he dropped his head to Chirrut’s shoulder with a groan, moving helplessly against him and sparking at every point they touched.

Soon, even this was not enough, and Chirrut slid a leg up to curl around Baze’s thicker thigh before, in a familiar move, he flipped the larger man and knelt over him, all flushed cheeks and triumphant grin. Chirrut gathered Baze’s hands and gently pressed his wrists to the pallet above his head, but Baze had no intention of going anywhere, content to stare up at the fading light catching in the carved lines of Chirrut’s chest, the grace and power of every movement of his whipcord limbs.

Before, Chirrut would make him wait while he touched his fill, examining every inch of a flushed and exposed Baze with gentle fingers and soft words of beatific praise. But this was different. Baze was sure they would both shake apart if they did not get closer. Now.

He felt himself go loose and pliant at Chirrut’s touch and moaned against his lips.

“Chirrut,” Baze absolutely did not whine, deep voice faint behind the rushing in his ears. “Touch me.”

“Oh, my dear Baze,” Chirrut purred, sliding his palms from Baze’s hips to his chest and neck, raking deliciously through his hair before sliding down to rest above the dip of his stomach and the trail of dark hair leading to his straining cock. “I will have you.”

“Oh,” Baze said inanely, breathless, legs falling open so fast he brought shame on the entire Order of the Whills.

Then Baze was greedily taking that reckless mouth as Chirrut wrapped a firm hand around his cock, running the pad of his thumb over the slick head before pumping hectically. Baze bowed and shook, exhaling brokenly at the sharp curls of pleasure licking up from his gut.

With one last fervent twist of his hand, Chirrut let him go just long enough for Baze to whine, bereft, before he dipped to straddle the broader man, sliding their cocks together with an experimental roll of his hips. At Baze’s throaty moan, Chirrut set a steady pace, world narrowing to the heat of their arousal and the places they touched. They kissed, hot and wet and ravenous, lips and teeth and tongues and the distance of five years and one week, and Chirrut swallowed the moans from Baze’s throat until Baze was reduced to trembling beneath him.

Rocking back onto his knees and flashing a hungry grin, Chirrut bestowed a shockingly soft kiss to Baze’s heaving barrel chest before grabbing his thighs and spreading him open, merciless and tender. Baze flushed but arched his head back, baring his throat with a desperate, helpless noise.

Chirrut spread his legs even wider, running a reverent hand over the long open stretch of exposed velvet skin up and down the lightly furred length of his thighs. Chirrut must have pulled oil from somewhere, because the next pass of his fingers was slick. Baze’s thighs flexed and strained as long fingers dug into the thick muscles, before one hand slid lower and circled the sensitive flesh.

When Baze drew in a sharp breath at the first pressure there, Chirrut leaned up to distract him with a deep, messy kiss. Then there was a finger pressing into him and a violent trembling wracking his body, and there was nothing but Chirrut’s tongue and the smell of them and the wet noises of his coaxing fingers.

Plundered by a clever tongue and even cleverer fingers, Baze arched into both and twisted his fingers desperately into the bedding above his head. But when Chirrut broke the kiss to pant and nose into the curve of his shoulder, mouth wet and open and face blown out with pleasure just from touching him, Baze couldn’t still his hands any longer. He grabbed the sweat-slick skin of Chirrut’s neck and reached down between them to clumsily fist Chirrut’s blazing cock.

Chirrut cried out and arched against him, scissoring two fingers into Baze and then curling them roughly, wringing an old Jedhan curse from Baze’s hoarse throat at the spasm of bliss, piercing much deeper than the touch itself and momentarily emptying his tangled mind. He did his best to match Chirrut’s pace through the haze of sparks, until Chirrut stilled him with his free hand, twisting the fingers inside him again before leaning back and turning his sightless, laser focus on the man splayed beneath him.

Chirrut had always been a dedicated man, trained into fluid skill and a focus that was terrifying to face on the battlefield. With a last deep breath and a strange, giddy moment of clarity, Baze realized Chirrut would be using that considerable focus and skill to fuck him senseless. It hit him like a punch to the gut, and he'd never been so happy to be laid flat.

Then Chirrut was holding Baze’s thighs and sinking into him, slow but inexorable. Baze bit his lip raw and tried to breathe, letting Chirrut in, greedy for him but overwhelmed by sensations that were no longer familiar. Chirrut worked his hips in tiny circles while he let him adjust, leaning down to pin him further and kiss at his neck, open-mouthed and biting and just a hair away from frantic, but always gentle.

Baze was split open, filled, silk and heat and a bone-deep burn that finally, finally scorched the chill of space from his core. He felt utterly wanton, liquid with pleasure and panting in shallow, rapid breaths.

Chirrut was strung tight as a bow with the effort to remain still. Baze, desperate for more but beyond words, splayed a little wider and bucked up into the pressure, bringing Chirrut impossibly closer and shocking a shout from his bruised lips. Chirrut pulled back and pressed into him again in one smooth, powerful motion. He pressed close, bracketing Baze with his arms and kissing any part of him he could reach as he began thrusting in earnest.

Pleasure ignited up his spine, and he clutched drunkenly at Chirrut’s rolling, sweat-slick shoulders, pulled apart by the punishing rhythm and relishing every stretch and burn and bruise as his body was reclaimed — no longer a simple machine for killing but once again a vessel for this, for devotion, for pleasure, for love.

His own again, by virtue of being Chirrut’s.

Baze had not allowed himself to be vulnerable in more than five years, much less splayed and pinned and utterly at another’s mercy. Trusting. Cared For.

He felt the traitorous heat rise from his throat to his eyes, and before he could understanding what was happening, he was weeping. A thin trickle of tears and a broken sob and the incongruent scratch of the pallet against his bare back.

Chirrut dipped his shaven head and pressed their cheeks together, humming at the dampness he found there, and began to slow, but Baze rolled his hips to meet him, both reassurance and demand. So Chirrut kept the pace and turned his head to kiss away the leaking tears.

“I am here,” Chirrut swore in a thick voice. “I have you, you’re not going anywhere.”

In this state, Baze had no defense against such a declaration. He believed. And he knew Chirrut believed.

They were home.

With another unstoppable sob, Baze clutched Chirrut to him tightly, and Chirrut burrowed into the heat of Baze’s neck, his mouth tripping over a broken stream of moans and curses and other meaningless, ardent noises.

The new position brought a tight, slick friction to Baze’s cock as it lay trapped between Chirrut’s shifting stomach and his own. Between sweet friction and the insistent pleasure from where he was speared open, it took no time at all for Baze’s orgasm to sweep through him and crescendo in a white-hot burst.

He clutched Chirrut like an anchor, and Chirrut held him closer and fucked him through it, as Baze’s moans filled their small, dark shelter and petered out to hoarse groans.

Baze had barely swam back to the surface of consciousness in time to notice Chirrut holding him with a frantic kind of tension, the rhythm of his thrusts chaotic and stuttering. Chirrut’s meaningless noises had faded into nothing but guttural sounds ripped straight from his center, but for some reason he was bearing down, pushing back, resisting letting go.

So Baze gathered the last of his strength and moaned low into Chirrut’s ear, “ _Please_.”

Chirrut released in a hot, wet rush inside him. Even then he thrust once, twice more, until they were both shaking and twitching from overstimulation, puddled on the ground and together.

Finally and too soon, he pulled out, and Baze was distracted from the feeling of loss by Chirrut and his long, shaking limbs attempting to slide off him and collapse beside him. Baze hummed, a gentle admonishment, and gathered his beloved against his chest before he could move.

Chirrut chuckled, exhausted, and settled down easily, heedless of the sticky fluid cooling between their chests. Baze floated, weighed down by the comforting weight of Chirrut on his chest and borne up by the dizzying aftershocks of pleasure and relief.

True to form, it was Chirrut who spoke first.

“That was … lacking our usual finesse.” When there was no answer, he continued in a sing-song tone. “What would Master Itaa say of our control?”

Baze groaned and pressed his face into the fuzz on Chirrut’s skull. “Please do not make me think of Master Itaa while your cum is still inside me.”

Chirrut cackled, but his next words were soft.

“Well, I suppose we had waited long enough. Even Force-gifted patience has its limits.”

Baze merely hummed again, in complete agreement and content to burrow closer to Chirrut and let himself drift.

Eventually, he forced himself to say, “We should get up and clean ourselves.”

“It can wait a little longer,” Chirrut mumbled, luxuriating against his chest. “We have time.”

And so they did.

 


End file.
